Phoenix Rising I (25 page)

“But you said--”

“I said she was older than most humans.” She patted him on the cheek again, commiserating with his dimwittedness. The poor lad wasn’t usually this dense. “Weel, ye figure it out, then. If one human year is the same as seven dog years, then seven dog years is the same as one human year.”

He stared at her, clearly not doing the arithmetic. Of course, figures weren’t the strong suit of the menfolk. “By my reckoning, she’d have lived probably twelve years, had she stayed a wolfhound.” When he still stared, she shook her head and sighed. Under her breath, she groused, “why is it I’m the only one who understands this arithmetic?”

Una paused and laid a hand on her son’s muscular forearm. “Oh, weel, don’t fash yerself o’er it, lad. Just know that she’s a woman in all the ways that matter. She’s a bonny lass, Connor, an’ she needs our help.”

He gazed at the image in the Well of Sight, a speculative look in his eye.

Una had seen that look before, in Finn’s eyes. She bit her lip against a wide grin. The lad was hooked. Aye, he was just like his da.

“I’ll go and gather my things, then.” He kissed Una’s cheek and strode off, whistling a jaunty tune.

She watched until he was out of sight, and then turned back to the Well. With narrowed eyes she drew her hand through the water and cast a strengthening spell. “Beast to beast, woman to man, East to West, water to land, give aid to lift this hex wrought by Fomorian hand.”

If all went well, the spell would help things along once her son and MacKenzie-or Bridget, if that was the name the lass still used--came together.

Lifting her eyes, she said a quick prayer to the Great Goddess. “Please let all go well.”

Chapter Two

Connor mac Finnbheara walked up a grassy hillside to where a group of people were gathered around a large faery ring. Looking around, he breathed deeply and smiled. He loved it here in western County Galway. It felt like home, even if it was in the human realm.

And, though he’d been schooled in this world of humans and lived here once a month--at the time of his Wolf--he was never completely comfortable in the clothing of the modern man. Stiff, unyielding denim on his lower half, soft knit on his top half, and hiking boots on his feet gave him the appearance of a man of this world, although any of the Fae would recognize him for what he was.

A prince of the Seelie court.

He was here, now, looking for the owner of the place, a certain Miss MacKenzie McCallum, in the hopes she could point him toward Bridget O’Neill, whom his mother wanted him to find. Bridget was the former owner of Tuitt House, the historic manor that rested just below this hill.

As he reached the ring, his attention was drawn to a dark-haired, slender woman who was speaking. Although she was tall, there was something ethereal about her that brought to his mind a mischievous pixie. The comely Bridget O’Neill his mother wanted him to find could wait while he took a few moments to enjoy this lovely scenery.

“Faery rings are a fairly common sight this time of year,” she was saying. Her voice was lilting and soft, though it carried well enough to the surrounding crowd. “As you can see, this one is made entirely of mushrooms. Scientists would tell you that, with all the moisture we’ve had so far, it’s not unlikely that fungus would grow.”

“But, why does it grow in a circle?” an elderly woman asked. Her faded eyes held a look of puzzlement and one wrinkled, shaking hand pointed toward the ring of mushrooms.

“That’s exactly my point.” The brunette started following the circle, her slender, sandaled feet gliding gracefully over the grass. Connor smiled to see her toenails were painted a bright, sparkling purple. His favorite color. As she walked, she said, “Scientists don’t really have an explanation for that. But how could they?” Turning back toward the gathered tourists, she lowered her voice and waggled her eyebrows. “It’s faery magic, and they don’t believe in such things.”

Everyone in the crowd laughed, except Connor. It was more than that he knew faery rings were a load of rubbish, for the Fae had the ability to transport to and from Cnoc Meadha from anywhere they wished. It was the woman who held him transfixed. As she continued her circle around the ring, her back was to him, affording him an excellent view of a heart-shaped ass hugged by tight-fitting blue jeans. Long, slender legs made for wrapping around a man’s hips made his gut clench with sudden and immediate need.

As she talked more about the faery ring, Connor stood back and listened.

“From a scientific or horticultural point of view, rings such as this one are caused by the release of nutrients, in particular nitrogen, from fungus that lives on organic matter in the soil. Some people treat their faery rings with special fungicides,” she said, turning slightly and giving him a view of her profile and the quick smile that lit her pixie face, “but I’d rather leave them. After all, who would want to destroy such a magical place?”

“What, exactly, is magical about them?” This question came from a young woman with garishly red hair standing near the brunette. Something about this other woman struck Connor as somehow unpleasantly familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her before. It wasn’t exactly that her face or form struck a chord with him; it was more a sense that they’d crossed paths before.

And that the crossing hadn’t been amiable.

The lovely pixie pushed her trendy light blue-tinted sunglasses up to the bridge of her nose and answered, “well, they’re said to grow from where the faeries have come and danced the night before. The mushrooms are the wee little seats they rested upon after their exertions.”

Connor grinned at that, picturing lowering his bulk onto one of those tiny mushrooms. He shook his head. Humans could be daft sometimes.

The brunette walked partially around the ring again until she stood on the upper side of the slope looking down at the assembled small crowd. When her gaze settled on Connor, her eyes widened behind the glasses and some of the pink left her cheeks.

Did this lass know him?
When her gaze slid to him and flicked away again, the sense that she knew who he was became stronger. She certainly acted like she did, at any rate. Now that she stood almost directly across from him, he could notice other things about her that the back view had not afforded.

Most specifically that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts lay soft and full beneath her knit top, her nipples faintly outlined against the material.

As if some giant, unseen fist squeezed his lungs, Connor struggled to breath, fighting an unfamiliar light-headedness. Just as quickly, his breath slammed back into him, along with hot, brutal lust.

By Dagda’s bollocks, they were only breasts. In his centuries of living, he’d seen more than his fair share--large, small, firm, soft, and everything in between. But these … these left him nearly panting with desire.

“O ... of course,” the young woman went on, her gaze lighting on him and then skittering away once more, “depending on where you are in Northern Europe, different stories explain--or try to--faery rings.”

“Like what?” This from the elderly woman from before.

“Well, in Ireland we believe these to be magical sites, but areas to be wary of, for if you step inside a faery ring you may be transported to the land of the Fae.” Her gaze rested briefly on him, then flitted away again. Her tongue licked over full lips colored with pale pink gloss and she cleared her throat. “If that happens, you must be careful not to eat or drink anything whilst you’re there, or you’ll be trapped and be their servant for eternity.”

“Well, now,” the younger woman drawled from the other side of the circle, her gaze dancing over Connor, “if they’re tall, dark and handsome, it might no’ be so bad.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, feeling again that he should know this woman. She
felt
familiar, but she didn’t
look
familiar. It was damned irritating.

The brunette laughed, though her eyes held a look of unease, which she quickly covered with a smile and light banter. “You could be right, but in legend most of the Fae are light in complexion; blonde hair and blue or green eyes. And, like I said, the stories vary. Faery rings in Wales, for example, are considered to be harbingers of doom.”

She swept one arm out in a gesture encompassing the ring. “Anyone unlucky enough to step inside one could be struck blind or become crippled. And if you are foolish enough to plow one up … well, beware the wrath of the faeries.” Another waggle of her eyebrows elicited light laughter from the group.

Connor watched her weave a special kind of magic over the crowed, drawing strangers close together so they shared their own stories of faery magic, then she invited people to stroll along the grounds, taking in the ruins of an old chapel and stone fortification along another hilltop two kilometers away.

“We’ll serve a late lunch,” she said, “at about two o’clock, so please come back to the main house for that.”

She gave a few more instructions that Connor didn’t really hear. His thoughts were filled with images of them together in a variety of carnal activities, all of which involved them getting naked. He wanted to strip those ugly denim pants off her and taste her, needed to bury his rod deep inside her.

Waiting until the tourists had wandered off, he approached her. “This is nice, that the owners open up their property like this.”

She turned to face him, the smile on her face faltering before her lips curved once more. This time, though, her expression was clearly forced, which made him wonder out loud, “Do we know each other?”

“No.” The deep breath she took plumped her breasts, drawing his gaze to the cleavage visible in the v-neck of her knit top. When she gruffly cleared her throat, he looked back up. A muscle flexed in her jaw. “Feel free to look around with the others, Mr. ...?”

“Connor. Connor mac Finnbheara.” Watching closely, he saw no spark of recognition in her gaze, although she may have got over the initial shock and was doing better at masking her emotions. He held out his hand and she slowly placed hers within his grasp.

When her skin touched his, her brown eyes widened and a pulse in her throat started thrumming, making him want to put his mouth there to feel her heart against his tongue.

He saw her tight nipples pressed against her soft top and decided he’d prefer to have his mouth there. Cocking his head to one side, he tried to picture her naked breasts, wondering if her nipples were the pink of the first hint of sunrise, the soft blush of a fresh peach, or something darker, like rich, ripe berries.

Connor was determined to find out. And seeing the proof of her arousal sent more blood surging to his lengthening cock. If her nipples got any harder, if the pulse in her throat pounded any harder, he was afraid he’d get so hard he’d burst.

She tugged at her hand, but he held onto it. He’d not had a reaction to a woman like this in a long time--maybe never--and he wasn’t about to let loose of her just yet. “And you are … ?”

Still trying to get him to release his hold, she muttered, “MacKenzie McCallum.”

“Ah, the owner. I’d no idea you’d be so young,” he said. “Although I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve met before.” Connor searched her face for something--
anything
-that would shake out a memory.

“You’re mistaken,” she said, her voice still soft but shot through with a thread of steel. “I’d like my hand back, please.”

“And I’d like to hold it awhile yet,” he returned, grinning at her deepening scowl.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”

Her lips tightened, but she didn’t respond.

“Oh, come now, lass, it’s not that big a thing I’m asking of you, is it? Letting a man hold a beautiful woman’s hand, standing under the bright sun on the greenest grass this side of Cnoc Meadha.” Because he was watching her so closely, he saw the slight dilation of her pupils. His cursed wolf sense caught the acrid odor of rising panic as she began tugging on her hand again.

What was it about him that would cause such a reaction in her?

Thinking he’d get more answers out of her if he wasn’t antagonizing her by holding onto her hand, he let go just as she gave a hard yank. With a startled squawk, she flew back and landed on the grass, flat on her rump in the middle of the faery ring.

“For the love of ...” Connor stepped between her splayed legs. So much for not antagonizing her. “MacKenzie, are you all right?”

This close to her, he could smell the sweet scent of honeysuckle and roses of her perfume, and the vinegary odor of her irritation wafted to the nose of his wolf. There was an underlying aroma that made him lean in closer.

“Are you
sniffing
me?” She scooted away from him.

She’d put distance between them too late. He recognized the sweetly spicy scent for what it was. She
was
aroused. By him.

A growl rumbled from his chest and he trapped it in his throat. She was skittish enough as it was. If he started growling at her, she’d slip through his fingers like melted butter. He held out one hand. “Here, let me help you up, lass.”

Her brown eyes narrowed. “I’ve had about all the help from you that I’d like, thanks all the same.” Ignoring his offer, she started to get to her feet.

Shaking his head at her obstinance, he bent and cupped her elbow. With a low snarl, MacKenzie pulled her arm away, losing her balance in the process. Trying to keep her from falling again, he made a grab for her and missed.

This time, when she sprawled on the grass, she was flat on her back and had him on top of her. Connor made himself comfortable, settling his groin in the cradle of her thighs, and braced his weight on his forearms. “Well, it was kind of you to break my fall,
mo mhúirnín bán
.”

“I am
not
your fair darling.” The sassy miss pushed at his shoulders, scowling when he didn’t budge. Her voice was husky, her sensuous lips damp and lush even with the frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Get off me!”

Lust danced through him, tightening his body all over, stinging his nerves with fiery pleasure. But there was something more here, something so powerful he shook. Keeping his weight braced on his left arm, he slid his right hand under her back, cupping her shoulder blade.